A recipe for disaster
by Liriel-eris
Summary: The risotto had been Ginny's idea to begin with. Hermione knew that it wouldn't end well - risotto never does. But she had to make sure the others didn't burn the flat down, and, besides, without her help they were bound to get things *wrong*.


A recipe for disaster

It had been Ginny's idea to begin with – a way to keep in touch in the busy world of adulthood, jobs and annoying flatmates. A bi-monthly cooking evening. Ron had been all for it, just so long as no one made him do the actual cooking bit. Harry would have agreed even if Ginny had proposed a bi-monthly stamp-collecting club. Hermione felt she had to be there to make sure no one set the flat on fire.

They had started small – pasta sauce and fried chicken and toasted sandwiches. They had braved their fair share of disasters, usually orchestrated by Ron, ("Wait, were we supposed to leave the stove _on_?")

They had even had a few victories. And now they felt they were ready to move on to the next level. They would make risotto.

"How hard could it be, right?" said Harry, with his usual confidence. Hermione privately felt that it was all very well and good to be confident when someone else had to do all the research. She spent the next two weeks poring over recipes, tips and charms.

If Professor Wibble's sixteenth century _Grimoire of Hearth and Home for Young Witches_ was to be believed, magical risotto was an even more unpleasant subspecies of the ordinary muggle dish.

When the onions had turned appropriately yellow and the very tips of the Arborio rice grew slightly transparent, the stirrer had to read the risotto a limerick. Then, you had to compose it an acrostic poem in its honour after more broth had been absorbed. This was shortly to be followed by a haiku. Exactly ten stirs after the eighth ladleful you had to invent it a story.

At first Hermione thought it was all a joke. She was not about to take the word of some sexist dead sorcerer, and she deeply objected to the book's title anyway.

"Young Witches!" she grumbled to herself, slamming the tome shut with perhaps a bit more force than was strictly necessary, and then having to pretend that she didn't mind the resultant cloud of dust. Aside from recipes, Wibble had been thoughtful enough to provide tips on "Ensnaring your Enchanter, Chapter 13" and helpful side notes on keeping your wizard happy.

Much to her chagrin, other books only confirmed all the nonsense about haikus. Hermione even went to consult Mrs Weasley, who stared at her for a few minutes in disbelief before assuring her that the recipe was in earnest. Her tip for making a good risotto was: "Don't." Mrs Weasley had been surprisingly impressed by the cook book, however.

"I have a later edition in the kitchen, dear. Came down all the way from Great Grandmother Prewett. Chapter thirteen is very helpful." This with a meaningful look in Hermione's direction. Mrs Weasley was still holding out hope for Hermione's union with her youngest son, and Hermione did her best to pretend she did not notice.

Hermione had not been the smartest witch in her year for nothing. She had every intention of rising to meet the obvious challenge in Mrs Weasley's warnings. She had always been good at potions. How hard could risotto _be_?

"Oh, and Hermione, dear, make sure you have the syllable in the haiku just right," Ron's mother called out merrily just as Hermione dropped her Floo powder into the fireplace.

There are some things they don't teach you at school. Making the perfect wild mushroom risotto is one of them. And no wonder, thought Hermione, stirring in what had to be twelfth the cup of broth while Harry and Ron hung safely behind her.

The rice showed no signs of softening.

"It says we had to put the broth in after the edges became transparent," Harry said doubtfully for the fourth time.

"_Yes_, Harry. And we gave the rice _an hour_ to become transparent," Hermione replied with such careful patience that it was obvious her temper was hanging by a thread. She had been stirring for twenty minutes straight and her arm was beginning to go numb.

"Maybe it didn't like our limerick. Anyway, I think it was about as transparent as it was ever going to get." Ron's voice was determinedly cheerful, trying to keep the peace. It seemed to him that where the Dark Lord and basilisks and Harry's annoying angst in fifth year had failed to do any damage to their friendship, the risotto just might succeed. "Look, I think this risotto is owning us, and no amount of magic if going to help. We should just order a nice curry from that new place in Diagon Alley."

"We are not giving up, Ronald," Hermione grated out, wondering how Mrs Weasley could ever think it would work out between her and Ron. "It's just a risotto, for Merlin's sake. Now, come and take over the stirring. I can't feel my arm. This should have been ready forty minutes ago!"

"You know, we could use the Half-Blood Prince's textbook," Harry ventured, as his friends swapped places.

"Harry!"

"Look, 'Mione, I know it was Snape's book, but we know he was the good guy, now! You were always the one telling us to trust him."

"Grown-up Snape! Teenage Snape was a complete git." Hermione could not believe they were having this conversation again.

"Well, sure, but our current circumstances suggest that there wasn't much even teenage Snape could have come up with to make risotto any more unpleasant to make."

"I'm not so sure about that. And what makes you think there's even anything _about_ risotto in the book?"

Harry looked like he had been waiting for her to say just that. "Well, he was a genius at potions, right, way ahead of everyone else? And we know he was arrogant and impetuous, so what better way to challenge himself?" He took in Hermione's astonished expression and grinned. "Also, I checked. He's scribbled pointers under the Instant Glory potion."

Hermione actually appeared to give this some thought. "Absolutely not," she said at last, and Harry looked about to argue when a magical alarm went off with a shrill ring.

"Quick! Tell it a flattering acrostic poem!" Hermione cried, rushing to Ron's side, where his face was scrunched with concentration.

"Risotto. Erm. Ok, Rice Is So Obviously Tasty To…I dunno! What do I say for the 'o'?" Ron exclaimed, darting an anxious look at his friends. Everyone's minds were suddenly blank.

"Otters!" Harry declared at last.

"Right! Rice Is So Obviously Tasty To Otters," Ron said hurriedly, and they all heaved a huge sigh of relief when the pot momentarily glowed with a white light, which meant that the risotto had accepted their offering.

Hermione privately thought that there was no accounting for taste.

"You know, Hermione, I think your Professor Wibble might have been a much darker warlock than Old Voldemort."

"Ron! Don't stop stirring!" she shouted, suddenly noticing that his arm had stilled in his relief. Wide-eyed, Ron resumed the stirring.

They continued in that vein. Harry had to improvise the haiku and Hermione had to tell it a fairy story.

Another hour went by and rice still refused to stop being chewy.

"The Prince suggests –" Harry began from next to the pot, where it was his turn to stir.

"Save it, Harry. We're not going to follow cooking tips from someone who came up with the _sectumsempra_," Hermione cut him off.

"But, Hermione – " Ron tried, from where he had taken over paging through the old potions book.

"No, Ron. Anyway, I think it's ready."

"I don't care if it's not." Harry had that stubborn look on his face that Order Members had learned to dread. "I'm done here."

"You won't get an argument from me," said Ron, with great relief.

The rice was still chewy, but everybody made a point of not mentioning this as they ladled up the risotto.

"Trust Ginny to flake out on us," Ron said after the first bite of his, just as the fireplace in the sitting room gave a whoosh and Ginny appeared, looking annoyingly cheerful.

"Hello, all," she greeted brightly. "How did it go? Why are only eating now?"

Ron looked like he was about to say something nasty but Harry cut him off by offering to fetch Ginny a plate form the kitchen.

"Oh, no thanks!" Ginny said, still undaunted even though her brother was turning pink about the ears. "I had pizza with the girls after practice. Ooh, I was thinking, we should totally make soufflé next week."


End file.
